The Street widens out at this point, disclosing, upon our left hand, Richmond Terrace, a row of handsome suburban residences with neat gardens in front, overlooking the Dee and the Welsh side of Cheshire,
A prospect fair, of river, wood, and vale,
As ever eye could wish for!
The declivity on the right is called Gallows Hill, from its being of old time the place where malefactors paid the sad penalty of their misdeeds. But what is this white conventicle-looking edifice which crowns its heights? Surely it is the refuge of some Mormon congregation—the temple, perchance, of some pagan fanaticism? Nay verily, good sirs,—assuage your indignation, for this is a Church of your own communion, a sort of Chapel of Ease to the parish of St. John. The architect was “abroad” when this building was designed; for one less becoming the outward character of a Church it is impossible to conceive. It is dedicated to St. Paul, and was opened for divine worship in 1830.
Some twenty or thirty yards farther the road divides in twain—that upon the left being the great highway to Nantwich and London in the days when “flying machines” went hence to the metropolis in a couple of days!—the disciples of Watt are now ready to convey us thither in six or seven hours! The right-hand road would lead us to Whitchurch and Shrewsbury, if we wanted to go there; but we have not yet done with “rare old Chester.” This little plot of land on the right is extra-parochial, forming part of that ancient Hospital for Lepers, the ancient lazar-house of St. Giles. In the ’Spital, as it is now by corruption called, George Marsh was burnt for his firm adherence to the Protestant faith in the days of Queen Mary; and in the little Cemetery of this Hospital, near which we are standing, his calcined remains now quietly rest “in sure and certain hope.”
Beyond this lies the township of Great Boughton, and a Chapel, once presided over by the Rev. P. Oliver, a somewhat celebrated nonconformist divine. Near this Chapel, in 1821, a Roman Altar was dug up, in splendid preservation, and about four feet high, bearing the following inscription:—
NYMPHIS ET FONTIBUS
LEG. XX. V.V.
the which, being translated, would in English read thus—“To the Nymphs and Fountains, the 20th Legion, the invincible and victorious.” So much for Boughton, and its past and present condition; we will now retrace our steps to the head of St. John Street.
Moving rapidly down this street, leaving behind us the Post Office, and the entrance to the Blossoms Assembly Room, we pause before a house on our right-hand, approached by a flight of steps, and having a lofty stuccoed front. This is the Mechanics’ Institution, and is consecrated to the instruction and healthy amusement of that important class of society whose name it bears. In addition to a Library, comprising several thousand volumes, this Institution enjoys the advantages of a News-Room, liberally supplied with the leading daily and weekly papers; together with sundry classes for the special behoof and instruction of the members. During the summer months also, members have the right of free admission to the Water Tower Museum, which we described at some length in our “Walk round the Walls.” What a marvellous fact it is, that with these benefits within their reach so few mechanics, comparatively, avail themselves of this, their own Institution!
Beyond this lie the Schools and minister’s house of the Wesleyan Methodists, divided only by a path to the Walls from the Wesleyan Chapel itself. The principles of Wesleyanism found their way into Chester as early as 1760, the first congregation being held at a house in Love Lane. Fifteen years afterwards, the Octagon Chapel in Foregate Street was erected for them, and continued to be their place of worship until the completion of the present edifice in 1811.
But what is there to see within those large folding-doors at the bottom of St. John Street? Are any Roman remains to be met with in there? Yes, indeed; but far different, in every point of view, from those we have hitherto been exploring. This is a noli me tangere domain; for the elegant mansion and grounds of Dee House have recently developed, ’neath the double enchantment of money and zeal, into a Convent of Nuns. Of the constitution and management of this veiled religious order we are not competent to speak, our sympathies being allied unto quite another creed: but from the specimens we have seen flitting noiselessly about the streets, we may but little expect to hear any of them singing—